Life Flows Like a River
by Merakia
Summary: Just a series of prompted oneshots of Eomer and Lothiriel's relationship. Thanks & credit to Tolkien for LotR and all that's related to it.
1. First Meeting

**Prompt: "How did you first meet?"**

Bedtime had come. Éomer was pretty much ordered to put the eldest, Elfwine, to bed. After accidently ripping Elfwine's nightgown and turning the room upside down just to find a stuffed horse that was sitting on the mantel, Elfwine was tucked into bed.

"Mama always tells me a story or sings to me. But she never told me how she met you," Elfwine stated. "How did you meet Mama? Did you like her right then and there? Did she look different?" At the age of eight, he wanted to know almost everything.

"Slow down, son," laughed Éomer. "Well, I first met her at Aunt Éowyn's wedding…"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ {FLASHBACK} ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The streets were packed with people eager to see Éomer King and Éowyn, Slayer of the Witchking. Yet, Éomer's mind was distant from the music and festivities around him. Fields of green and rolling hills. Whinnying horses on the plain and the cool breeze in his face. Villages ready for the winter. Rohan presided, as always, in his heart and mind.

Noticing her brother's thoughtfulness, Éowyn remarked, "Brother, you are rather quiet. Are you thinking about…?"

"Nay, not our good uncle and cousin, but of home," Éomer responded. "I wish we could have had the wedding in Rohan."

"I spoke with Lothíriel about that. She said, 'You are becoming a Princess of Gondor and wife of the Steward of Gondor. You are being grafted into Gondor's society. It only makes sense to at least…'"

Éomer interrupted, "Wait, who is Lothíriel?"

"Prince Imrahil's daughter," responded Éowyn. "I thought I told you."

"You only told me that she was working on combining Rohirric and Gondorian traditions and organizing the wedding. What kind of person is she?" Éomer answered. His mind whispered, " _She must be one of those airheaded butterflies who say they'd do something when they can't. Or a very cold-hearted lady who doesn't know what life is."_

Before Éowyn could answer, the deep, booming voice of Aragorn called, "Welcome, friends! It is so good to have you in our midst once again."

Pleasantries were exchanged, and, pretty soon, Éomer settled into a pattern. Mornings were busy in nodding his head to his sister's questions. The afternoons he spent with Firefoot, councils with both Gondorian and Rohirric officials. The councils with his own officials usually involved finding a bride. They almost always ended with the suggestion of the Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. They reasoned that if Lady Lothíriel could arrange a wedding, she'd make a decent queen.

Two days before the wedding found Éomer pacing in Prince Imrahil's office. "You see, my council has been pestering me since me coronation about…er…an heir and a queen. None of the ladies of the Rohan have interested me…"

Imrahil interrupted him with a merry gleam in his eyes, "I understand how you're feeling right now, my friend. You are asking for my permission and blessing to wed my daughter. Correct?"

"Yes, sir," Éomer responded.

"Lothíriel is still young," continued Imrahil. "She is mature, as she should be at her age, but there are still many things she has yet to learn. It may be only a father's pride that tells you that she might be the best qualified for Rohan and yourself. I tell you what I'll do. I will go ahead and draft the document, but I will make no agreement until you speak with her as soon"

"Thank you," Éomer said with a sigh of relief. "May I ask if she has…favored anyone before? I mean, had any other suits?"

"Yes, plenty of offers, but she and I refused them all for three very good reasons," said Imrahil. Seeing the Éomer's unasked question of "What reasons?" in Éomer's eyes, he added, "Reasons that only she will reveal."

 _What have I gotten myself into?_ Éomer thought to himself as he exited Imrahil's study. _As far as I am concerned, Lothíriel might not even be suitable as a queen, much less as my…wife._ What a frightful thought. Not knowing the character of his prospective spouse.

The day of the wedding arrived. The indoor ceremony blended both Rohirric and Gondorian customs in a very satisfactory manner. The outdoor festivities afterward was typical in both lands, though. Food, drink, music, dancing, and other typical things to be found at a wedding. The starlit sky and the rising moon, along with the many lamps and torches, added a romantic atmosphere. Ribbons of gold and blue paid homage to the uniting of the two nations in addition the white flowers with an abundance of green foliage. Lady Lothíriel really payed careful attention to the blending of customs and colors of Rohan and Gondor.

"Standing alone?" Erchirion, Prince Imrahil's middle son, asked. "I'm sure there are plenty of ladies wilting without some attention from you."

"What about yourself?" responded Éomer. "I believe I heard you once say that there's a certain lady you admired."

"You really should try the next dance," continued Erchirion, ignoring Éomer's sarcastic comment. "It is the closest we have to Rohan's lively dances. I'll fetch a partner for you."

Before Éomer could protest, Erchirion was off. He soon returned with a lady taller than any of the Gondorian giggling geese he met. She wasn't quite as tall as himself, but an elvish aura surrounded her. A humored smile lit her face, and her silvery eyes sparkled like stars.

"Éomer, this is my sister," began Erchirion. "Lothíriel, you are familiar with the King of Rohan."

"In name, but not acquaintance," she responded. "It is a pleasure to meet you, sire." She curtsied gracefully.

Bowing in return, Éomer said, "As it is to meet you, Lady Lothíriel. Your brother recommends this next dance. Would you honor me by being my partner?"

The lady addressed inclined her head and took Éomer's offered hand. She whispered, "I am afraid my brother has trapped you into the hardest and longest of all our dances."

Éomer murmured, "I think I will survive."

As the music started, memories of his mother's dancing lessons came to his mind as he figured out the dance. Noting her contracted brow, getting down the rhythm of the steps also occupied Lady Lothíriel's mind. Eventually, he saw that she could converse without worrying about tripping over her feet.

"Did the ceremony please you, sire?" Lady Lothíriel suddenly asked. Then she colored and added, "If I am too forward in my speech, I ask your pardon."

Éomer answered, "Do not worry about your 'forwardness.' I prefer direct speech rather than the round-a-bout pleasantries. Yes, I enjoyed the ceremony. Both countries' customs were very well woven together. I also noticed that both Gondor and Rohan are represented in the decorations."

"Oh, I am really relieved to hear that it turned out so well. I was so worried that officiator would not get it right," she said. "I suppose your sister informed you of all the plans?"

"Yes, she did. I actually owe you an apology."

"Sire, you have done nothing to offend me."

"True, but I prejudged you as one of Gondor's social butterflies or a stern-faced lady with dull wedding plans. It was wrong of me to jump to conclusions."

"Then pardon is granted," she said with a merry sparkle in her eyes. "Though, I daresay that is a trivial wrong. When do you return to Rohan?"

He answered, "Next week, but I hope that we will become better acquainted before then."

Their talk drifted to the differences of Gondor and Rohan until Lothíriel was called away by Prince Imrahil. Éomer was left to muse on the elf-like lady who inadvertently awoke his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ {FLASHBACK END} ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"That's it?" interrupted Elfwine. "I thought it'd be more like you saving Mama from something. I think that's how I would like to meet my girl."

Eomer laughed, "Perhaps you will, but every hero must get some sleep."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope you enjoyed this approach to Éomer and Lothíriel's first meeting. I am still working on a lot of writing issues, such as developing plot, characters, etc. If you have any advice on improving my writing style, please p.m. me! Also, please leave a review if you have some constructive criticism or thoughts regarding this particular oneshot. One more thing, if you have a writing prompts or information regarding for Éomer/Lothíriel stories, I'd love to know as I intend to write of series of oneshots of Éomer and Lothíriel. Thank you!


	2. One Year Between

**Prompt: What happens between betrothal and wedding?**

Lothíriel spent the following week after her betrothal in the vast library, searching for anything in regards to Rohan. After all, she should be somewhat acquainted with the country she will be queen of. All the books she found did not really help though. A few books brushed over the general history, but nothing really delved into Rohan's culture, traditions, history, or anything. Finally, an idea struck her. One that she should have thought of in the first place.

It was a bright, cool afternoon when she invited Éowyn for tea in her suite. After a light refreshment and aimless chatter about the weather and small, household affairs, Lothíriel began, "Lady Éowyn, may I assume you prefer straightforward speaking?"

"Indeed, I do," responded Éowyn, "but I wish you will drop off the titles because we are kin and will be sisters."

"Of course," answered Lothíriel. "I actually have a rather large request from you. For the last few days, I've been trying to learn more about Rohan's culture in the library. However, I can find nothing. My request is that you would teach me your homeland's culture, customs, and language."

Éowyn answered slowly, "I shall do my best to teach you whatever you shall need to know when stepping into the role of queen. However, I would like this arrangement to be less formal."

"So would I. After all, there ought to be no formalities between sisters."

The next day, Éowyn began teaching Lothíriel the language. "Our culture, history, and traditions depends on our language," she noted. "If you do not start with the language, nothing will make sense."

Within three months, Lothíriel could understand the majority of what Éowyn said in Rohirric, but she couldn't carry a conversation. She could recite some of the shorter Rohirric stories, though.

One day while reciting the First Line of Rohan's kings and grooming her horse at the same time, Amrothos entered the stable from a ride.

"So, you are learning Rohirric," Amrothos said casually. "Are you intending to impress Éomer?"

Flushing with embarrassment and some measure of anger, Lothíriel answered, "No! You do realize that your younger sister will be a queen of a foreign country. I want to be able to relate to my people and understand their customs and history."

"Ohhh, so it's for the people and not so much for the king," Amrothos continued in a teasing voice.

"Amrothos, if you do not stop," she hissed, glaring at her brother with flashing eyes, "you will regret it."

"Alright, I will surrender," Amrothos exclaimed, handing his reigns to a stable boy, "but don't expect to get rid of me on your terms."

A month later, Lothíriel could carry a conversation in Rohirric pretty well. She enjoyed her times with Éowyn. Now since she could speak the language, they did not necessarily need to meet as often, but they always spent at least an hour together each day. Sometimes they would go to the market together. Other times, they would go riding. They also worked on her wedding dress together. Their discussions ranged from somber, adult topics to preferences in clothing and everything in between.

At the turn of the year, Lothíriel returned to Dol Amroth to spend some time with her family. She wrote to Éowyn and even to Éomer on a few occasions. By early March, her letters to Éowyn dwelled mostly on her upcoming wedding.

In one letter to Éowyn, she wrote, "Why is it that both you and I have to travel for our own wedding? It is rather difficult to do so, especially if there's no one in Rohan to at least physically organize things for me."

"Shall I tell you what you told me a year ago? Faramir and I will be traveling to Rohan next month, so I will make sure all will be arranged as planned," was the reply.

A few days before her final departure from Dol Amroth, Lothíriel explored all her favorite haunts. The steep, hidden trail that led to a beach during low tide and a cove during high tide. Forgotten passages and even a tower. At the beach, she found a large couch shell. She'd still have a little bit of her homeland to bring with her. Everything was packed up in two large trunks. One contained her personal belongings, and the other held some practical items.

* * *

Four months after Éowyn's wedding found Éomer entrenched in a sea of sorting out records and reports of Rohan's general economy in his study. After his recent tour of Rohan, his disk was stacked high with notes and a lot of other odds and ends.

"Rat-tat-a-tat," resounded the knock on the door.

Éomer sighed and called, "Come in."

A servant entered, saying, "My lord, a messenger from Gondor has arrived." He handed him a saddlebag before exiting.

Without a moment's hesitation, Éomer unbuckled the bag and emptied the contents on the table. A few letters from Prince Imrahil, Faramir, and King Aragorn spilled out. There was also a letter from his sister and even Lothíriel, which surprised him. With a slight tremble in his hands, Éomer opened Lothíriel's letter.

 _To Éomer, King of Rohan,_

 _I scarcely know how to address you, so you must forgive my impassive formalities. In Gondor, men are supposed to start any correspondence with their betrothed, but I do not think that particular "rule" can be applied to us. How does Rohan fare? What of yourself? I daresay that you spend half of your days shut in with councils or papers._

 _Éowyn has kindly agreed to prepare me for life in Rohan. She has fully enlightened me in regards to culture and traditions. She has also told me of certain, childhood "adventures." I am sure my own brothers (and my father and cousin) have told you stories of some of my own shenanigans. Is it really true that you managed to lock the cook in the closet while you ransacked the kitchen for gingerbread? I am afraid I must sign off soon, or the messenger will leave without this letter._

 _With all due respect,_

 _Lothíriel of Gondor_

 _P.S. I heard you've never seen the sea. I've enclosed a picture of it, but it doesn't do it justice._

Éomer then found the picture. It was really a painting. White-capped waves crashed against an ivory cliff. The waves themselves was never the same color. At one angle, they were blue. At another, grey or green. All motion seemed to stand still, yet crying for permission to move again. A castle stood on the cliff, stark grey against the blue of the sky. Birds soared in the sky with an unheard shriek. He almost felt like he could step into the picture.

After reading all the other letters, Éomer penned responses to the other letters. Writing a letter to Lothíriel was much more difficult. By midnight, he finally had a decent letter to send to Lothíriel. On an impulse, he enclosed a rough sketch of a horse, which he drew many years ago.

As time went on, Éomer began to look forward to Lothíriel's letters. Oftentimes, they were short and kind of irregular, but they always came with a picture of some place he's never been. At one point her letter was cryptic, but he found it a pleasurable reprieve from numbers. Lothíriel fascinated him even more through her letters. Sometimes there was a touch of youthful innocence, other times she wrote of things only an adult would understand. At the end of each of her letters, he asked himself, _"Is she like this in reality?"_ for one can be an entirely different person on paper than in person.

April brought spring and his sister and brother-in-law. He gladly rearranged his schedule to spend some time riding with Faramir and Éowyn. As the wedding approached there was one question that plagued him.

During an early morning ride with Éowyn, he broached the topic, saying, "Éowyn…er…do you know if Lady Lothíriel has preferences for…sleeping arrangements?" As soon as he finished, he felt his face heating up from embarrassment. Something he hadn't even experienced in years.

Seeing her brother's discomfiture, Éowyn began to shake from pent-up laugher. With ill-disguised titters, she answered, "I don't know, but maybe you should ask her. She will be here next week."

One week of bachelorhood left. Éowyn refused to divulge too much of Lothíriel's character to him, saying, "Some things are best learned when you discover them."

 **Author's Note:** I like to think that Éomer and Lothíriel were engaged while Éomer was in Minas Tirith for Éowyn's wedding in 3020 T.A. I also like to think that they had about a year-long engagement because they were married in the last year of the Third Age or the first year of the Fourth Age.

So, I am going to give ya'll my next prompt because I could really use some ideas for the next oneshot. _Prompt: First Year (or so) of Marriage._ Also, if you think of any way I can improve this oneshot (in terms of plot, characterization, or word choice), I'd love to know!


	3. The First Two Years

**Prompt: What happens during the first two years of marriage?**

After three weeks of traveling, climbing the last ridge and seeing Edoras nestled at the foot of the White Mountains cheered Lothíriel's heart. As she descended into the hilly valley, anticipation for a hot bath and a proper bed rose. As much as she enjoyed touring Rohan as her wedding trip, she was happy to return to her now permanent home.

"What are you smiling for, Lothíriel?" asked Éomer from her side.

Turning to face him, she answered, "North, south, east, or west, home is always the best."

"You are just as enigmatic as one of your letters portrayed you to be," he said with a laugh. "Do you mean Dol Amroth?"

"Of course not!" she exclaimed with feigned shock. "Why would a Queen of Rohan call any place outside Rohan 'home'?"

"Then I am most glad to hear that," he said.

Every now and then, they passed a farm with terraced fields of young corn, wheat, or barley. They rode past the simbelmynë-covered burial mounds in reverent silence. By midafternoon, they approached the city, ever surrounded by the sturdy wall, thorny fence, and dike. Leaving their horses at the gate in the care of the dependable sentries, Lothíriel, Éomer and their small retinue made their way into Edoras on foot. Residents crowded the streets to welcome their king and queen home again while the guards forged a pathway through the crowd. As they neared the top of the city, the crowd thinned and disappeared to their own tasks.

Before the steps that led up to the grassy terrace before Meduseld sat three large houses. Two were guesthouses and were built on one side of the street. On the other side was the house the royal family dwelt. A merry little stream gurgled in front of the house with a bridge that led to the brightly painted door. Behind the house was a walled terrace. Not as large as the one before Meduseld, but large enough for young children to run and play in.

Upon entering the house, the housekeeper greeted them, saying, "Good afternoon, my lady and lord. Your messenger rode in this morning, bearing news of your arrival. So, I've taken the liberty of ordering hot baths and a light refreshment."

"Thank you, Marta," said Lothíriel. "You truly know a traveler's thoughts."

After bathing, changing, and eating, Lothíriel soon fell asleep in the spacious bed she and Éomer shared. Gradually, the king and queen settled into a pattern. In the mornings, Lothíriel visited various citizens, who soon accepted the queen as a respected, but ordinary, neighbor. After lunch, she wove tapestries with the higher-born ladies for three hours. Then she'd ride for an hour or so with Éomer before straightening up the house a bit afore supper. Éomer accompanied Lothíriel during her visitations for an hour or so before returning to the house to review reports and prepare a presentation of those reports for his council meetings. Then he would meet his councils before going out riding. In this manner, the days turned to weeks and weeks to months.

Winter then arrived in late October, bringing many storms that drove people to their warm hearths. It also brought some crankiness and troubling memories, considering that most people had more time to brood.

"What is troubling you?" asked Lothíriel one night while bed. "I have been noticing that you would be doing something. Then your expression changes to a grim and sour mood.

"Nothing," he answered gruffly. "Nothing for you to be concerned about."

Lothíriel said nothing. Instead, she rolled to her side. Back facing him. Every time she tried to broach the topic, Éomer turned sullen. Eventually conversation and even familiarity between the two died down, leaving two very civil and distant persons in place of the warm-hearted couple.

Even though her relationship with Éomer seemed as icy as the nights, Lothíriel still burned with a strange passion. By the end of November, she had enough of the stony silences of the evenings, Lothíriel asked Éomer if she should move to another room. Lothíriel's hope for an adamant refusal was dashed when Éomer responded with curt nod and a cold shoulder. She lasted about a week when she decided that she'd prefer sharing a bed with a moody man over a cold bed.

"Éomer," she finally said while he wrote a letter in his study. "This silence between us has gone on long enough. It has been over a month, and it is time for you to just tell me what is going on."

Startled to hear Lothíriel call him by his name (for before she managed to address him without it), Éomer looked up. "Why do you want to know?" he asked after a moment's pause. "I should not trouble you with my burdens."

Kneeling in front of him and taking his hands, Lothíriel responded, "When I married you, I vowed to share your burdens. I resolved to aid you in any way I can. If just voicing me your dilemmas to me will alleviate your affliction, then I would have begun to fulfill those promises."

Éomer rose with Lothíriel following suit. He wrapped her in a warm embrace and said, "Little things, dear one, such as getting through the winter, managing pesky councilmembers, and never finding what I need."

"And we do not speak to each other for over a month because of these 'little things,'" laughed Lothíriel. "Let us promise to share burdens. For now, I can help you find what you need and tell you that we will survive the winter."

Thus reconciled, the two spent a merry Yule, New Year's, and the rest of the winter. When spring dawned, a few new things changed in their previous schedule. They spent a little more time together because Lothíriel acted as a secretary of a sort. Great was their joy when Lothíriel announced to Éomer of the expectation for their firstborn on their first anniversary. And great was their sorrow when she birthed a stillborn daughter eight months later. Throughout the pregnancy and death of their child, Éomer and Lothíriel became even closer.

A month after their child was born, a councilmember, by the name of "Freawulf," approached Éomer at the conclusion of a meeting. He remarked carefully, "My lord, it has been three years since you were crowned and two since you married."

"Please speak plainly to me your intent," said Éomer.

Encouraged by Éomer's words, Freawulf continued, "The throne of Rohan is still insecure, and there is no one to yet secure it."

Realizing the underlying question of "When will that Gondorian queen of yours will bear a healthy, living heir?" Éomer gritted his teeth and spat, "Lord Freawulf, I understand your concern for Rohan's security, but I am already fully aware of that. You may have doubts regarding the queen, however, let me make you aware that neither you nor anyone else may broach familial matters to me or my wife."

Leaving Freawulf in the intricately-carved hall of Meduseld, Éomer crossed the snowy terrace and strode to the house. He slammed the door and crossly sighed.

"You are home early," said Lothíriel. After seeing Éomer's furrowed brow, she added, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," Éomer answered, lightly kissing Lothíriel on forehead. "Ever since our little Hilda was buried, the council has been dropping hints. Today was the last straw."

"Hmmm. Perhaps it is time to change up the operation of the government a little bit," she said.

Over the next few weeks, Éomer and Lothíriel brainstormed and drafted a constitution for the councils. By mid-April, they declared the new system to Rohan. In this system, the king had a year-round cabinet of trusted advisors. Every six months, members in the Congress of Lords rotated with other men so that all may have a chance to represent Rohan. Then there was a third assembly, which was for the War Cabinet.

May and Éomer and Lothíriel's second council came around. Just to satisfy the people, they hosted a feast. The day after the feast, Éomer took Lothíriel up to the mountains for a week.

When they returned, Lothíriel finally told Éomer some news she had been saving.

"Are you sure?" asked Éomer in disbelief. "Are you sure that you are ready?"

Lothíriel nodded, her heart too full for words.

Éomer knelt before Lothíriel, kissing the little baby bump, before kissing his wife passionately.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Well! I am glad to get this one done. There was a lot that I skipped, but maybe I will expand on it another time. Lovey-dovey endings are not my forte, thus, the terrible ending. Like or dislike, drop me a review! If there's something you dislike, please let me know how I can improve!

As you can tell, there are a few non-canonical names. Here is the summary of some guest OC's.

Marta – housekeeper

Freawulf – a pesky council member

Hilda – Éomer and Lothíriel's stillborn daughter.

For descriptions of Edoras, Meduseld, and the surrounding area, I carefully studied my _Lord of the Rings_. I'm including what I've found down below:

Of the surrounding area of Edoras –

'Look!' he cried, and they lifted their tired eyes. Before them stood the mountains of the South: white-tipped and streaked with black. The grass-lands rolled against the hills that clustered at their feet, and flowed up into many valleys still dim and dark, untouched by the light of dawn, winding their way into the heart of the great mountains. Immediately before the travelers the widest of these glens opened like a long gulf among the hills. Far inward they glimpsed a tumbled mountain-mass with one tall peak; at the mouth of the vale there stood like sentinel a lonely height. About its feet there flowed, as a thread of silver, the stream that issued from the dale; upon its brow they caught, still far away, a glint in the rising sun, a glimmer of gold.

'Speak, Legolas!' said Gandalf. 'Tell us what you see there before us!'

Legolas gazed ahead, shading his eyes from the level shafts of the new-risen sun. 'I see a white stream that comes down from the snows,' he said. 'Where it issues from the shadow of the vale a green hill rises upon the east. A dike and mighty wall and thorny fence encircle it. Within, there rise the roofs of houses; and in the midst, set upon a green terrace, there stands aloft a great hall of Men. And it seems to my eyes that it is thatched with gold. The light of it shines far over the land. Golden, too, are the posts of its doors. There men in bright mail stand; but all else within the courts are yet asleep.'

'Edoras those courts are called,' said Gandalf, 'and Meduseld is that golden hall. There dwells Théoden son of Thengel, King of the Mark of Rohan. We are come with the rising of the day. Now the road lies plain to see before us. But we must ride more warily; for war is abroad, and the Rohirrim, the Horse-lords, do not sleep, even if it seem so from afar. Draw no weapon, speak no haughty word, I counsel you all, until we are come before Théoden's seat.'

The morning was bright and clear about them, and birds were singing, when the travelers came to the stream. It ran down swiftly into the plain, and beyond the feet of the hills turned across their path in a wide bend, flowing away east to feed the Entwash far off in its reed-choked beds. The land was green: in the wet meads and along the grassy borders of the stream grew many willow-trees. Already in this southern land they were blushing red at their fingertips. Feeling the approach of spring. Over the stream there was a ford between low banks much trampled by the passage of horses. The travelers passed over and came upon a wide rutted track leading towards the uplands. At the foot of the walled hill the way ran under the shadow of many mounds, high and green. Upon their western sides the grass was white as with a drifted snow: small flowers sprang there like countless stars amid the turf.

'Look!' said Gandalf. 'How fair are the bright eyes in the grass! Evermind they are called, simbelmynë in this land of Men, for they blossom in all the seasons of the year, and grow where dead men rest. Behold! We are come to the great barrows where the sires of Théoden sleep.'

…Of Edoras and the exterior surroundings of Meduseld….

The dark gates were swung open. The travelers entered, walking in file behind their guide. They found a broad path, paved with hewn stones, now winding upward, now climbing in short flights of well-laid steps. Many houses built of wood and many dark doors they passed. Beside the way in a stone channel a stream of clear water flowed, sparkling and chattering. At length they came to the crown of the hill. There stood a high platform above a green terrace, at the foot of which a bright spring gushed from a stone carved in the likeness of a horse's head; beneath was a wide basin from which the water. Spilled and fed the falling stream. Up the green terrace went a stair of stone, high and broad, and on either side of the topmost step were stone-hewn sea, There sat other guards, with drawn swords laid upon their knees. Their golden hair was braided on their shoulders the sun was blazoned upon their green shields, their long corsets were burnished bright, and when they rose taller they seemed than mortal men.

…Of the interior of Meduseld…

The guards now lifted the heavy bars of the doors and swung them slowly inwards grumbling on their great hinges. The travelers entered. Inside it seemed dark and warm after the clear air upon the hill. The hall was long and wide and filled with shadows and half lights; mighty pillars upheld its lofty roof. But here and there bright sunbeams fell in glimmering shafts from the eastern windows, high under the deep eaves. Through the louver in the roof, above the thin wisps of issuing smoke, the sky showed pale and blue. As their eyes changed, the travelers perceived that the floor was paved with stones of many hues; branching runes and strange devices intertwined beneath their feet. They saw now that the pillars were richly carved, gleaming dully with gold and half-seen colors. Many woven cloths were hung upon the walls, and over their wide spaces marched figures of ancient legend, some dim with years, some darkling in the shade. But upon one form the sunlight fell: a young man upon a white horse. He was blowing a great horn, and his yellow hair was flying in the wind. The horse's head was lifted, and its nostrils were wide and red as it neighed, smelling battle afar. Foaming water, green and white, rushed and curled about its knees.

'Behold Eorl the Young!' said Aragorn. 'Thus he rode out of the North to the Battle of the Field of Celebrant.'

Now the four companions went forward, past the clear wood-fire burning upon the long hearth in the midst of the hall. Then they halted. At the far end of the house, beyond the hearth and facing north towards the doors, was a dais with three steps; and in the middle of the dais was a great gilded chair.

~~Found in "The King of the Golden Hall" _the Two Towers_


End file.
